Physical & Emotional Abuse Support Group
Abuse is a general term for the treatment of someone that causes some kind of harm (to the abused person, to the abusers themselves, or to someone else) that is unlawful or wrongful. No one deserves abuse, period. Abuse can be emotional, physical, or sexual.
A single hapless peasant huddles forgotten on the tiled battleground.
Once, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades. They laughed as they exchanged empty boasts about the battle to come, about the foes they would fell. They darted eagerly into the fray at the first sign of movement.
Now, he stood alone. Friends had fallen. Others, taken captive. Warm smiles had been replaced by grim countenances on friend and foe alike. Oh - the enemy. They looked nearly human, but for the malicious glint in their eyes and the wicked curve of thier sharpened teeth.
A horse leapt over he head - he scrambled to avoid having his brains dashed out by a sable hoof. Off in the distance, beyond the dust, he caught a glimpse of the obsidian walls of the enemy castles, stabbing the sky stained red by the setting sun. Dust filled the air, choking the life from him - how on earth did some people find pleasure and glory in the midst of this nightmare?
He had little choice but to go forward. The push of battle had swayed him slightly to the side, but he pressed doggedly onward towards what, he did not know. But he dared not turn his back to these...creatures. Even the members of his own army - if not locked in life or death struggles of their own - seemed to prefer standing aloof, watching him dispassionately as danger after danger threatened.
He had paused long enough. Wearily, he took one more step towards the unknown objective. A sudden hush caused him to snap his head up. What had he done? The settling dust revealed a sight which turned the blood to ice in his veins.
The dark queen stood before him in the distance. He could feel her eyes piercing him as a feral grin spread over her face, revealing just a hint of envenomed fangs. Imperiously, she raised her serpentine dagger, and pointed it at his heart.
He whirled. She caught a glimpse of his own queen standing off to the side, watching him. He relaxed a bit - she had seen! Only to have his hope dashed as she turned away to watch two pf the mounted figures chasing each other in circles.
He looked once more ahead. A trio of brutes advanced, with a pair of dark priests in blood-spattered robes slinking off to the side.
The peasant knew he might best one of the weakest thugs, but doing so would leave him vulnerable to the others. He whirled, throwing one figure to the ground as he dashed ahead. He took a step backward to gather his balance, only to gasp as a sliver of stone slid between his ribs, along his spine. He threw himself forward and looked, only to find that he had somehow come up against the jagged walls of the enemy castle - how had he raced so far ahead? Feverishly, it almost seemed as if the castle walls advanced on him as the blood stained his back.
He put his back as close to the wall as he dared, and turned once more. The thugs had moved on, disinterested in him any longer, but the saturnian glowers of the twin preiests danced before his eyes as they slithered around him. And always, he was aware of the burning gaze of the dark queen who directed her forces with such ruthless efficiency.
It seemed, to his whirling mind, as though all the forces that had once stood at his back now watched, as well. Mildly curious to see what he might do against this array of fiends. But he was a simple man, not a warrior. He did not wield a sword, or command armies with trumpets. He had his pitchfork, more suited to the task of tossing hay than smiting evil. Still, they watched him. Their gazes seemed to weigh him, testing to see how spectacularly he was about to fail. Would none of them assist him?
His gaze looked ahead once more. Somewhere ahead, he knew, he would be rewarded. Greatness and admiration awaited him. He would soon be revealed as the powerful warrior he knew would be able to survive such a fray. He would dash his opponents to the ground as he strode forth with laughter on his lips, and a song of glory in his heart. If he could just keep moving forward.
He felt another prick at his back as he pressed against the dark castle. Dark eyes glinted at him gleefully as the sun set over the field of battle plunging the beset army into night. The man swallowed heavily as the serpentine figures advanced towards, twisted perversions of the cross writhing atop the staffs they lifted high over their heads...
Once, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades. They laughed as they exchanged empty boasts about the battle to come, about the foes they would fell. They darted eagerly into the fray at the first sign of movement.
Now, he stood alone. Friends had fallen. Others, taken captive. Warm smiles had been replaced by grim countenances on friend and foe alike. Oh - the enemy. They looked nearly human, but for the malicious glint in their eyes and the wicked curve of thier sharpened teeth.
A horse leapt over he head - he scrambled to avoid having his brains dashed out by a sable hoof. Off in the distance, beyond the dust, he caught a glimpse of the obsidian walls of the enemy castles, stabbing the sky stained red by the setting sun. Dust filled the air, choking the life from him - how on earth did some people find pleasure and glory in the midst of this nightmare?
He had little choice but to go forward. The push of battle had swayed him slightly to the side, but he pressed doggedly onward towards what, he did not know. But he dared not turn his back to these...creatures. Even the members of his own army - if not locked in life or death struggles of their own - seemed to prefer standing aloof, watching him dispassionately as danger after danger threatened.
He had paused long enough. Wearily, he took one more step towards the unknown objective. A sudden hush caused him to snap his head up. What had he done? The settling dust revealed a sight which turned the blood to ice in his veins.
The dark queen stood before him in the distance. He could feel her eyes piercing him as a feral grin spread over her face, revealing just a hint of envenomed fangs. Imperiously, she raised her serpentine dagger, and pointed it at his heart.
He whirled. She caught a glimpse of his own queen standing off to the side, watching him. He relaxed a bit - she had seen! Only to have his hope dashed as she turned away to watch two pf the mounted figures chasing each other in circles.
He looked once more ahead. A trio of brutes advanced, with a pair of dark priests in blood-spattered robes slinking off to the side.
The peasant knew he might best one of the weakest thugs, but doing so would leave him vulnerable to the others. He whirled, throwing one figure to the ground as he dashed ahead. He took a step backward to gather his balance, only to gasp as a sliver of stone slid between his ribs, along his spine. He threw himself forward and looked, only to find that he had somehow come up against the jagged walls of the enemy castle - how had he raced so far ahead? Feverishly, it almost seemed as if the castle walls advanced on him as the blood stained his back.
He put his back as close to the wall as he dared, and turned once more. The thugs had moved on, disinterested in him any longer, but the saturnian glowers of the twin preiests danced before his eyes as they slithered around him. And always, he was aware of the burning gaze of the dark queen who directed her forces with such ruthless efficiency.
It seemed, to his whirling mind, as though all the forces that had once stood at his back now watched, as well. Mildly curious to see what he might do against this array of fiends. But he was a simple man, not a warrior. He did not wield a sword, or command armies with trumpets. He had his pitchfork, more suited to the task of tossing hay than smiting evil. Still, they watched him. Their gazes seemed to weigh him, testing to see how spectacularly he was about to fail. Would none of them assist him?
His gaze looked ahead once more. Somewhere ahead, he knew, he would be rewarded. Greatness and admiration awaited him. He would soon be revealed as the powerful warrior he knew would be able to survive such a fray. He would dash his opponents to the ground as he strode forth with laughter on his lips, and a song of glory in his heart. If he could just keep moving forward.
He felt another prick at his back as he pressed against the dark castle. Dark eyes glinted at him gleefully as the sun set over the field of battle plunging the beset army into night. The man swallowed heavily as the serpentine figures advanced towards, twisted perversions of the cross writhing atop the staffs they lifted high over their heads...
My support group talks about the importance of putting thoughts and ideas on to paper.....journal, make up stuff, be creative, be firm, be anything you want to be....it is yours to write....
You have a gift.
I read it twice.....I think it is awesome... At the end of my second read I thought to myself----I bet our high school drama and creative writing teachers would love to tap in to a source who can teach others write like this.... Maybe not now if you are not feeling strong--- but maybe a goal --- teach at a community center or community college, or library--- how to write.
You have a gift.
It is important to use this gift as an outlet for you now--- but it is not only a gift for you to heal--- it is a gift for others to read and you can expand this in so many ways.
I love that you write!
I remarked that these days, if I wanted to draw, I'd run out of black remarkably quickly. The joyous emotions don't seem to scream to be poured out nearly as much, do they. And didn't want to only pour out negativity.
He remarked 'the finest artists in the world didn't do so because they wanted to make people feel a certain way. They poured out their incredibly strong emotions out as art, and people appreciated that. They didn't try to create art, they just tried to communicate how they felt.'
Wise words. But I still wish I had more positivity to share, especially with such kind people as there are here.
When i read a book , a passage, a story.... especially as a teacher, I feel , visualize, ask questions, put myself in the story.... I teach others to do the same....and then others understand and have compassion--- that is why I encourage you to teach a class at a community college or community center---- help others put their stories in remarkable words so that readers can feel land live the words that are written..... you are so good at it.
Few teenage boys would read a story about a crying woman .... but a night that is feeling defeated? Yes---- you reach another audience with your words....
That is why I encourage you to do more with your writing....It is a gift!